


CHAOS GAME

by Lex Vale (deductively)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Author loves to chat in the Comments, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Love/Hate, Yes another lowkey songfic #stopday2kforever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 04:45:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13826757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deductively/pseuds/Lex%20Vale
Summary: I see butterfly wings . . .I see . . .I see . . . !"Hey, tell me what this is."It's just the way it works!You know I'm not corrupted . . .I'm just chaotic.





	CHAOS GAME

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moistang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moistang/gifts).



_I'm covered in acid-coated butterflies_  
_Watching the crimson lotus_  
_Bloom around me_

_Its petals singe my skin_

_LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE_  
_Causing chaos_  
_In the beautiful, perfect world_  
_I'd created_

 _You shifted it_  
_ever so slightly_  
_and the pendulum swung_  
_collapsing my dreams._

\- D.V. / 02/28/2018

* * *

It was a pathetic thing, Kimblee's grave was.

Rumor had it that either before or during the Promised Day in Amestris, he'd been absorbed by a Homunculus known as Pride, and ended up destroying him from within with his sheer sadistic nature.  It sounded - and still sounds - too far-fetched to be true.  But there was no other explanation.  Something even less likely happening in times like this was people disappearing with not even a hypothesis to explain it.

 

_In order to classify a dynamic system as chaotic, it must have these properties:_

  1. _It must be sensitive to initial conditions_
  2. _It must be topologically mixing_
  3. _It must have dense periodic orbits_



 

 

Let's see.  Was the dynamic system of my fiancé's death, of our relationship, chaotic?

Well, the first rule was certainly true.  Knowing Kimblee's origins (I will not record them here), his start impacted his end greatly.  The third rule applied, seeing as we started in only slightly different places and now one of us was dead and one of us was alive.  But the second rule . . .

_It must be topologically mixing._

Was it really?  In a sense, it was.  Everyone dies eventually, it's a simple fact of life, so he and I would both end up dead.  But the likelihood of me becoming one of the many swirling souls screaming in the core of a flesh-covered philosopher's stone was extremely low.  Would I become a ghost of myself, crying out for freedom with no one to guide me?  No . . . no, because one said that Kimblee was probably comforted by the screams of the innocents.  Would he be able to save me from such a demise?  Would he care enough?

 

_"Zella."_

_"Yes?"_

_"I know . . . I know that I've said that there's nothing more beautiful than the sound of death, but . . . hearing your voice . . ."_

 

I couldn't get his smile out of my head, the one he always saved just for me.  It wasn't inhuman or cruel, no, it was kind.  Loving, even.

I'd first seen it when he'd told me his State Alchemist alias.  We'd been sitting on the crest of a hill overlooking Central City, around the time when we'd first met.  He'd been explaining the ranks of Amestris' military to me, and I couldn't quite wrap my head around the concept of a separate group for "State Alchemists".  As I was sketching my interpretations of all that I heard, he said, "They give us names when we become State Alchemists.  Strongarm, Flame, Fullmetal . . . they call me the Crimson Lotus Alchemist."

I'd blinked curiously at this.  "Crimson Lotus . . . isn't that a euphemism for explosions?"  When he nodded, I couldn't suppress a grin.  "It suits you and your  _undying_ adoration of destruction."

Kimblee chuckled.  "I suppose that's why they chose it."  He held out his hand to me; I traced the circles on his palms curiously.  "They're a part of me now, something they can never take from me, no matter how hard they may try.  Sure, I'm sadistic, inhuman, one might even call me psychotic.  But I'm still . . . I'm still a  _person_ , though I could never let anyone  _know_ that."

"Why not?"

"Well, look at me."  He scowled, staring at his other hand.  "If anyone thought I was a real human as opposed to a demon trapped in flesh, they would hate me more.  At this juncture, they just . . . kind of accept it, you know?  'Oh, but he's just being Major Kimblee, leave him to it'.  It's  _pathetic_ , Zella, I can't stand it!"

I released his hand and stared down at my sketchbook, eyebrows lifting delightedly as an idea formed.  My pencil flew across the paper, much to Kimblee's curiosity, but when he'd look over my shoulder I'd hide my work and stick my tongue out at him.  His pout, a rare but entertaining occurrence, would earn him a quick kiss that would satisfy him for a few moments before the cycle continued.  Not that I minded, not in the slightest.  It was the happiest I'd been in years, even if it would lead to a great deal of misery in the end.

Finally, I tore the page from my sketchbook and gave it to him.  He eyed it curiously as I spoke:  "The Crimson Lotus.  Keep it safe, would you?  It's for someone who means the world to me."

His laugh would resonate in my head forever, even now, as the memory faded.  He'd leaned against me, I'd kissed his cheek, fallen in love so easily with something that would slip through my fingers due to my carelessness.  Now here I was, standing over a spot of dried blood,  _his_ blood.  If I hadn't been so stubborn, I could've stopped it from spilling out of his veins.  The madness that ensued never should've happened.

Dropping to my knees, I bent forward to kiss the patch of dried blood.  The last remnants of our chaos game.

**Author's Note:**

> hjhdjs this is absolute garbage god I'm sorry I don't usually make OCs for series lmao  
> Anyway this is my Drachman her name is Zella Credge and she's suffering  
> here's a description of her
> 
>  
> 
> Zella Credge was born and raised in Drachma in 1885 before she visited Amestris in order to spread knowledge of the Chaos Theory, which had just recently been discovered by Henri Poincaré. There she met Solf J. Kimblee, and though she didn't manage to soften his sadistic tendencies and love for bloodshed, she did get him to feel something besides complete mania. They were to be married - Kimblee proposed himself - but the Ishval Civil War of Extermination had him sent away. Heartbroken, Zella returned to Drachma, where her parents, not aware of her destination during her travels, warned her that the Amestrians were violent, heartless persons who thought of no one but themselves. Zella refused to believe such a statement, saying that even the worst of people can change, but she stayed in her home country for fear of her parents being correct.
> 
> And they were, or so it seemed. In 1914, the Pact of Non-Aggression between Drachma and Amestris had been broken, and the advice of Kimblee. Zella was thrilled to see him again, only to realize that he'd manipulated the soldiers - including her father - into attacking Fort Briggs so they could be obliterated. Horrified, she made a silent vow to never speak to him again, no matter what circumstances arose.
> 
> Later that year, Kimblee died.
> 
> Unbeknownst to her mother, Zella visited his "grave", a crudely dug patch of dirt adorned with dried blood. She was true to her word and never said a word, but she kissed the ground before she left.
> 
>  
> 
> Lowkey I was like "Kimblee doesn't get enough love" so I gave him a girlfriend.....whose father he killed.........for his own purposes...................
> 
> Yes, I've been thinking about this a lot. I drew her yesterday, and her hair goes over one of her eyes. Why? Could she be a homunculus? Is she the new incarnation of King Bradley?? Will she become Fuhrer after she kills Roy??? WILL she kill Roy???? Find out when I write the full-length (lmao sike you thought I'd tell you)!
> 
> also @ sophie I know you're probably tired of me gifting stuff to you and I'm sorry


End file.
